


Waste Not

by dollcewrites



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Sexual Tension, body worship undertones, cant believe food kink and food sex is a tag wow, handjobs, kissing?? teasing?? fingers in mouth? are u sold yet, this was inspired by crack and begun ironically but now it's serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollcewrites/pseuds/dollcewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Zoro had the conscience to do anything but pant hotly and swallow moans, he might have laughed at the smear of cream on the cook’s nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waste Not

**Author's Note:**

> dee started a twitter poll asking whether or not sanji has a food kink and this was born, except it took on a life of its own
> 
> alternatively titled 'dick is up for that soufflé'

I. Cupcakes

 

Zoro watches as Sanji steadily swirls pearl white icing onto the fluffy cupcake bases. His eyes follow the slim hands up to angular shoulders, and down the slope of Sanji’s backside to finish tracing the curve of his ass.

Rather absently, he plucks the nearest cupcake off the tray, fully iced and still warm, and proceeds to push the entire thing into his eager mouth in one swift movement. He knows only the icing is sugary; the base is lemony, and leaves a nice tang on his tongue.

In a moment, Sanji’s whipped around and grabbed his collar with a free hand.

 _“What the fuck!”_ Zoro tries to say, but it comes out more like _“Wab deh fuh!”_ with his mouth full of cupcake, and he struggles backward in vain, swallowing.

“Don’t touch the food until it’s all done, asshole! Nami and Robin were supposed to taste these first,” Sanji growls into his face. “ _And_ you eat like a _caveman._ Look at—”

Sanji freezes then.

_Look at? Look at what?_

Sanji’s eyes travel further down from Zoro’s eyes, and fixate on something.

Slowly, Sanji lifts an arm, and wipes a smear of the white icing off of Zoro’s cheek, near to the dimple on the right side of his face and the corner of his mouth.

There is something _very_ strange about how Sanji is acting all of a sudden. Zoro sits still in wait.

Blue eyes burn into his, half lidded and fixated, as the cook dips his thumb into his mouth and sucks the icing off.

“...Look at the mess you made,” Sanji murmurs, and a strange shiver threatens to tease up Zoro’s spine.

The cook’s hand reaches out again, but when it’s almost about to wipe the last trace of icing from Zoro’s bottom lip, he seems to hesitate. He steps forward, and their lips meet in a sugary kiss, Sanji’s tongue thoroughly exploring the front row of Zoro’s teeth and the taste of his mouth.

When Sanji draws back, the lust hanging heavy around him is immediately noticeable to Zoro. His chest is flushed where a peek of it is visible beneath an unbuttoned collar, and the awkward way he stands is something that Zoro recognises well.

 _Shit,_ Zoro thinks. _He’s hard from that?_

It’s not like he’s been withholding from Sanji lately—with the cook’s rampant sex drive, they fit in as much private time as they can.

Again, in that odd pitch of voice, Sanji mutters, “at least I know the cupcakes taste good.”

After a moment of consideration, Zoro suggests quietly, “Do you want to go up to the crow’s nest?” He knows Sanji will know exactly what he means.

The blonde coughs, and turns back to his tray of cupcakes.

“No, I think I’ll stay here and bake.”

_What the fuck?_

 

II. Strudel

 

“It’s not my fault you have some kind of—some kind of _hard on_ for food!”

Sanji turns a brilliant shade of tomato which would match the sands of the Red Line.

“ _Excuse me?_ I HAVE A WHAT NOW, SHITTY SWORDSMAN?”

Zoro bares his teeth and gets himself up in Sanji’s face, the cook’s leg raised between them, Zoro’s hand on the hilt of Wado.

“This is the third time now you’d rather ice a _fucking pastry_ than have sex with me,” Zoro spits. “What, am I less appealing than your fucking—your—whatever those things are!”

“These are _strudels,”_ Sanji hisses. “And I—that’s not—true.”

Wado slides back into her sheath with a clink. Zoro shuts his jaw, and sets himself back like cold steel. He’s not playing this game if Sanji can’t be honest.

He leaves the galley, Sanji silent and twisted in his wake, and hopes the cook will play with his own devices until he’s ready to spit out whatever new weird thing is going on in his brain.

 

III. Coffee Tart

 

Zoro is all warm. Sanji is filling his lap, lanky legs hooked around Zoro’s waist and haramaki, arms tangling his neck. The crow’s nest is warm too, the lighting is like toffee, and the world outside is dark but stable—they must be approaching a summer island.

Zoro’s mouth tastes like strong coffee, bitter and rich, and the only remains of the cook’s offering are the crumbs of the tart’s base.

The aforementioned mouth is now occupied, with Sanji’s own eagerly prying his lips open, similarly soft and warm.

Zoro pulls back, breath tucking against his lover’s cheek, and he plants kisses over the sensitive skin of Sanji’s ear and neck.

He decides to take a chance—it’s been a significant amount of time since his last attempt to riddle out the cook’s secrets, and though Sanji never provided an explanation, his gifts of food are as good as any apology.

“You always kiss me after you give me something special to eat.” Zoro’s murmur is not a question or an accusation. It is a statement.

Sanji slows the stroking of his thumb over the back of Zoro’s hair to a stop, but he doesn’t jump back.

It’s a moment before he answers.

“Yeah?”

It’s soft, but Zoro can hear the _What of it?_ beneath the words.

“Nothing, just something I noticed.”

If he pushes any further he’ll meet a wall, or rather, a heel in his face, so he doesn’t. He wants to get laid tonight, and can imagine so does Sanji, so he files this away as a small achievement and slides his hands under Sanji’s shirt.

 

IV. Maple Syrup

 

Sanji’s made sure all the elements are off, and his apron is hung up. The laden table is already being ravaged by his captain and their sniper, and soon after the rest of the crew files themselves in and begin to pile plates with breakfast food.

Only when everyone’s eating, and he’s served the ladies their first helpings, does he sit down. As usual, he’s filled with that pure satisfaction he always feels when his crew enjoy his food together.

It’s only after he’s served himself banana toast and porridge with blueberries that he feels a prickle in his side.

Like he’s being watched.

His eyes slide up, and are drawn as if with a magnetic force to the swordsman’s across the table.

Zoro is staring at him. His gaze is heavy, gold. It makes Sanji want to flush; Zoro’s mouth is wide open as is his specialty, and his tongue is flat out as he pushes half a banana into his mouth with ease, eyes locked with Sanji’s. The cook just about leaps from his seat.

He frantically checks that no one else at the table has noticed them.

Luffy has eyes only for his food, while Chopper and Brook have their eyes on their own food—because Luffy has no real concept of which food is _his._ Nami is listening to Usopp, who’s gesturing animatedly, and Robin has started up a conversation with Franky which prompts him to begin explaining things by using his food as a model.

Sanji would scold him for treating food this way, but he’s a little preoccupied.

He looks carefully back at Zoro, taking a spoonful of his porridge so no one notices his odd behaviour.

Zoro is licking his own spoon clean of berry juice, tongue flattening and teasing metal, swiping over his lips when he’s done.

Sanji wants to wriggle in his seat, or to look away, but it’s futile.

He thinks he can manage it, really, until Zoro slaps a pancake down on his plate, and directs a shit eating grin right at Sanji.

Sanji watches with borderline horror as Zoro spoons berries onto it, generously doles out little mountains of whipped cream, and then reaches for the maple syrup. Slowly, and with more precision than he’s ever handled a syrup bottle with before, Zoro drizzles an absurd amount of the sticky, sweet liquid all over his pancake. He proceeds to roll it up like a crêpe, and looks Sanji dead in the eyes as he lifts his creation to an open, waiting mouth.

Sanji’s dick fucking _throbs,_ hot and restricted and uncomfortable in his pants.

Zoro’s tongue laps up some whipped cream, but a good amount manages to fall onto his plate. Red berry juice and cream gets over his top lip when he takes the first bite.

The final straw is the maple syrup, which trickles down his chin and the fingers he has wrapped around the rolled pancake.

Sanji’s knee jerks involuntarily and the whole table jolts when it hits the underside, the force of his reaction nearly knocking over a pitcher of lemonade.

The life of the table turns its attention to his fuss, all eyes on him for a moment.

“Are you alright, Sanji?” Usopp asks in a concerned tone.

Nami looks rather alarmed, though Luffy’s hand is already reaching toward her plate sneakily, and she swats it away. Robin is smiling amusedly.

“What? Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Most give him weird looks, but return to their antics and conversations soon after. Zoro is leaned back in his seat, licking his fingers clean.

Sanji resolves to kill him after breakfast.

 

* * *

 

_“You. Fucking. Asshole.”_

Sanji flattens the sole of his foot against Zoro’s sternum, smacking the swordsman into the wall of Sunny’s hallway. Brook and Chopper are on dish duty, and Robin had offered to supervise them, so that sat well with Sanji. Once he was able to stand from his chair safely, that is.

Zoro only grins, and this infuriates Sanji further.

“Something the matter, cook?”

“ _You!_ You’re the matter—what the fuck did—what d’you think you’re doing?”

In a movement, Zoro thrusts himself forward and sets Sanji off balance, but when he finds his footing a second later Zoro’s in his face with Shusui half out of its sheath.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing, Sanji?”

His breath is heavy through his nose as he stares Zoro down.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Seriously, I’m sick of you beating around the bush,” Zoro all but snarls. “If you wanna fuck me and a cake at the same time, just let me know, for god’s sake.”

Sanji gapes like a fish and Zoro continues, tone lapping over into something almost akin to a purr.

“You practically busted a nut just now at breakfast, watching me eat that pancake.”

Sanji’s pulse is tapping fast in his veins. He’s not sure whether it’s from the sudden surge of arousal that’s gripped him, or the anger from the crêpe incident all over again.

He has two choices.

He opens his mouth, Zoro grins again.

 

V. Honey

 

Sanji had placed baking bowls on the floor of the crow's nest before he pulled himself up through the hatch door, and Zoro eyes them curiously.

“What’s this?”

“These,” Sanji indicates. “Are leftovers. I made cake, but it turns out I made too much whipped cream, and didn’t use up all the honey that I needed to.”

Zoro knows never once has Sanji miscalculated the amount of an ingredient or failed to use something up. But he doesn’t mention this. He lets his cook continue.

“So I was thinking, we shouldn’t let them go to waste.”

“Mm.”

Sanji takes Zoro’s grunt of assent well, but he can see the other man is still uneasy when he goes to sit by Zoro.

Letting his weights be dropped to the floor and forgotten, Zoro leans over to Sanji, who’s propped awkwardly on one arm and is pretending to be interested in the view. He kisses Sanji’s jaw, a hand sneaking to the man’s jacket hem to give it a tug.

Sanji obliges, scooting so that they can lean together easily, and Zoro curls a hand around the back of his head. The thin blond hair is fine between his fingers, silky. Sanji’s lips are soft and his breath is shared with Zoro as they kiss, and Zoro wants to dig his fingers into Sanji’s ribs, to meld with him, muscle on muscle, pull him in, as close as they can get, heart to heart, sea and land. His hold tightens in Sanji’s hair with unhindered want and his other hand involuntarily comes to grip the cook’s thigh. Sanji pulls back, breath ragged and face flushed.

“Gentle,” he growls.

Gentle, Zoro can do, if that’s what Sanji wants. He’s compliant to his partner’s pace first and foremost, especially if Sanji’s finally decided he’s ready to try _the thing_ out.

So he lets Sanji lead.

Sanji guides him up against the bench, back to the wood, and starts with his mouth. It’s always the mouth, with Sanji. The cigarettes, the food, the backtalk. The way he kisses. _Where_ he kisses—everywhere. (Where he drags his tongue—also everywhere.) Not that he can fault or tease Sanji for his oral fixation, not when Zoro in turn is so obsessed with the mouth that kisses him and the hand that feeds him.

In hindsight, Zoro should’ve seen the opportunity or inklings of his food fixation earlier.

Sanji flowers wet kisses over Zoro’s neck and his teeth graze the juncture of his shoulder. His lips tease Zoro’s earlobe, and Zoro’s earrings chime when Sanji’s tongue plays with the metal.

It’s the hands that come next. Those blessed, sacred hands. Fingers splay over Zoro’s stomach, stroke his throat and jaw, dip into his haramaki.

Before long, they’re in the usual predicament: both of them sweating around the collar, forced to untangle and separate themselves if only for a moment to discard troublesome clothes. Zoro’s go first, and Sanji gets distracted with administering his brand of pampering to Zoro, before Zoro can slow him down for a moment again to pull off his clothes in turn. Often, they don’t bother with his shirt or socks.

Zoro likes when Sanji looks dishevelled. Hot mess suits him well, and this is one of the only times he gets to see the cook not rigid and fussy and preoccupied with his image. Sanji is always preoccupied with Zoro instead; but Zoro does his best to return the attention in full while he has the strength.

“The food,” is all Zoro can pant when Sanji begins to stroke him. It seems almost that Sanji has forgotten.

Sanji’s mumble of, _ah, right,_ reaches his ears, and he sits back, glancing at the bowls. Zoro takes this chance to run his hands up his lover’s thighs, while Sanji silently debates how he’s going to do this.

A moment later, two of Sanji’s fingers dip themselves into the whipped cream, and then they hover by Zoro’s face. Zoro doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let his gaze falter, as he leans forward to drag his lips over the fingers offered to him.

Sanji seems to relax at the movement, and then Zoro’s tongue is wrapping through the gaps, licking the fingers clean, and Sanji’s flush blazes to the tips of his ears, pupils dilating and blowing wide as his gaze fixates on Zoro’s mouth around his hand.

This is a new concept to Zoro, but he’s not waiting around while Sanji short circuits over something as entry level as this. He’s too hard for this, and he takes matters into his own hands, literally, by picking up the small bowl of honey, and proceeding to pour the contents all down his naked front.

There’s not enough to drip to the planked floor, but it slides slowly down his pecs and abdominals, the first droplets following the carve of his v-lines to his crotch.

Sanji’s mouth falls open in something close to horror. Conflict flashes behind his eyes.

“Oops,” Zoro deadpans. “Looks like I made a mess.”

“Let me,” Sanji breathes, hitch in his tone as he drops his head to Zoro’s chest, “get that for you.”

His tongue drags over the honeyed surface of Zoro’s right pec, and when it licks over Zoro’s nipple and he can’t stop himself from twitching in response, the cook’s hand grabs his shoulder for balance and the lapping of his tongue becomes rapid and eager. Stripes are licked down his abs and back up again. The other honey sticky hand finds its way back to Zoro’s erection and begins to stroke him again, and Zoro can only let his head fall back to rest on the bench’s mat.

Zoro is hot and close when Sanji’s tongue slows and the pumping of his wrist does too, and Zoro nearly growls in frustration. As it is, a small groan pulls from him.

“Hold on there tiger,” Sanji hums against his stomach, and Zoro can feel his grin. “There’s still food left. We can’t let it go to waste.”

Zoro tries to regulate his breathing while Sanji reaches for the bowl of whipped cream.

“Hop up on the bench,” Sanji commands, and Zoro complies.

Sanji seats himself between Zoro’s spread legs, kneeling before him. One of Zoro’s hands, perfectly clean themselves, nestles in Sanji’s hair in anticipation. Sanji dips his hand into the cream, fluffy and damp between fingers, and then he wraps the hand around Zoro: It’s cold, but there’s no time to protest, because in the next moment Sanji’s mouth follows, and it’s hot. Sanji twists his hand and tongue, licking up every last smudge of cream, teasing over Zoro’s head as he goes. Zoro feels like he could faint, and somewhere back in a logical section of his brain he wonders if he’ll last long enough for them to use up the whipped cream.

Sanji is quick, though, dipping his hand, returning his mouth’s attention to the tandem of the creamed hand and Zoro’s length. There’s nowhere his tongue isn’t, and his hair's a mess, Zoro’s hand feverishly clenching and unclenching in the tangle, trying desperately not to pull but distracting himself enough to not lose control and thrust into Sanji’s mouth. His face is a mess too, and if Zoro had the conscience to do anything but pant hotly and swallow moans, he might have laughed at the smear of cream on the cook’s nose.

 _“Sanji_ —I’m—”

Sanji’s blond head nods in response but his hand doesn’t stop, slick with saliva, wet friction heaven on Zoro’s length, and his head only bobs down further. Fingers finally withdrawing, Sanji swallows around him and Zoro bites down a cry as his body jolts, coming in the cook’s mouth.

Once the white hot blankness has receded and he’s dragging in breath, Zoro looks down at Sanji weakly, who’s wiping his mouth and nose on the back of his hand.

“You swallowed my—?”

Sanji grins at him, and it looks immature and proud and sexy. Zoro is oh so ready to return the favour.

“Waste not,” Sanji replies.


End file.
